


Like A Martyr

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Gore, Halloween horror - Freeform, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, OMGCPUMPKINS Fest, Werewolf Jack, Werewolves, ZImbits endgame, dubious consent werewolf bites, past Jack/Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Bitty accepts Johnson's dibs to move into the hockey haus, he assumes it will come with some level of responsibility.  He doesn't expect that responsibility to include taking care of a vicious werewolf once every full moon.  And he certainly doesn't expect it to come with the prospect of falling madly in love with his team captain, who also happens tobethat vicious beast once a month.





	Like A Martyr

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: @omgcpumpkins prompt Jack is a werewolf and his transformations are kind of painful/violent, so the rest of the guys help him work through it. Maybe Bitty’s a frog and it’s his first time witnessing this? Or something later when Bitty has a crush on/is dating Jack?
> 
> This is a Halloween Horror fic, so whilst the end-game is Zimbits, and there are fluffy moments, it is also not a fluff fic. There is a minor character death- spoilers in the end notes in case you want to check who. My rule when it comes to character death tag= Major Character Death- anyone who is in the main ship tags. Minor character death tag- Anyone who is listed under characters.
> 
> The dubcon tag is for the werewolf bite, not for explicit sexual content, and will be listed in end notes. Please take caution with this fic if horror is triggering for you.
> 
> For other horror/spooky fanmixes, stories, and art, check out [omgcpumpkins](https://omgcpumpkins.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Original post for Like a Martyr is here at my blog, [captainericbittle](https://captainericbittle.tumblr.com/post/166357237603/like-a-martyr-rated-mature-word-count-11814)

We made mad love  
Shadow love  
Random love  
And abandoned love  
Accidentally like a martyr  
The hurt gets worse and the heart gets harder  
-Warren Zevon

***

If Eric Bittle could have described his first year at Samwell University as anything—he’d go with something like ‘normal’ or ‘typical’. There were parties with keg-stands, fratboy lingo, shoes covered in vomit from a bad date, and a captain of his hockey team who couldn’t stand him. It was no more and no less than he expected.

When the old goalie, Johnson, was getting ready to graduate, he pulled Bitty into his room and offered him a fist-bump. “Dibs, my dude. You need to understand though,” he said, catching Bitty’s wrist with his free hand before it could make contact with his knuckles, “that these dibs come with some serious responsibility. Not just to the narrative or the plot—and in this universe, it’s going to get hairy. Literally. For a lot of people involved. But it comes with a happy ending, and that might be worth it.”

Bitty stared at him, sniffing slightly to see if he could smell out traces of a heavy bong hit or something. Then again, Johnson was always weird, and frankly even having to live across the hall from Jack, No Pies Before A Game, Eat More Protein, Zimmermann wasn’t enough to put him off having regular access to a kitchen. And living under the same roof as Ransom and Holster also meant frequent dance parties, Mario Kart tournaments, and a shoulder to cry on if he ever needed it.

So, it was no trouble at all to let his knuckles bump against Johnson’s. He was fairly sure the zinging sensation rushing up his arm was just static electricity.

***

Bitty hadn’t expected the sudden uproar when he walked out onto the haus lawn, took a look at the guys and said, “So, Johnson just gave me his dibs, y’all, and I…”

He couldn’t finish the rest of his sentence. Shitty, Ransom, and Holster all let out a huge cry, scrambling to their feet, rushing inside screaming Johnson’s name. It left Bitty awkwardly stood there with Jack—who was sat on the ground with his back to the tree—giving him a curious look.

“You accepted?” Jack asked.

Bitty flushed red. “Yes. I promise it’s not going to be…”

His words were cut off again when Jack rose with a faint sigh, gave Bitty a long, slow up and down look, then stormed into the haus and slammed the door behind him.

“That went well,” he muttered to himself.

He didn’t really think about it again until the day before he was set to move his things in. A text from Ransom came in around six that evening.

**Bitty, we need you to come to the haus. Now.**

Though Bitty was in no mood to stop his last-minute packing, he slipped out of the dorm, and began the short trek from the campus housing to frat row. The haus didn’t stand apart from any of them, really. Most of the houses there were in some state of disrepair, all of them had traces of student life—from old, half-empty beer cans to empty, torn condom packets, to strange lawn ornaments that some drunk and/or stoned group of people thought would look amazing.

As Bitty came to a stop in front of the place that was soon to be called his home, he took a moment to appreciate it. The lawn chairs up on the reading room, the way the green paint had a faint glow with the sunset as a backdrop against the roof. He could see a light on in the attic, and the welcome mat was slightly crooked under the front door.

He took a breath, then walked up the two steps to the porch, and let himself in.

The air had a faint twinge of spices from his earlier baking endeavour—determined to send everyone home with at least a few baked goods before a long summer. There was the faint, heady scent of weed likely coming down from Shitty’s room, and a tang of unwashed jock from everyone who had been lounging on the couch all day.

Bitty poked his head into the living room and found no one. Same went for the kitchen, and when he stood at the bottom of the stairs, he heard nothing.

Strange.

He took a step into the hallway and said, “Hello? Y’all did not just call me down here for nothing when I could be packing up my dorm right now! I have so much to—” He let out a yelp when the basement door banged open, and Ransom reached out with a long arm, seizing his wrist.

“Come on. Shit, wait. No.” Ransom changed directions fast enough that his grip on Bitty wrenched his arm a bit, but Bitty went with it, letting his friend drag him to the kitchen. Bitty stood by the fridge after Ransom released him, and he watched Ransom frantically search drawers until he came to the one nearest to the stove and pulled out a gaudy necklace with a strange symbol hanging from the chain. “Put this on.”

Bitty frowned, crossing his arms. “I was already hazed this year, Justin. If you think I’m going to put up with another just to live in this dang haus…”

Ransom scoffed, grabbing Bitty’s shoulder, and wrenched him round. Bitty protested lightly, but not enough to stop Ransom from fixing the clasp round his neck. “Trust me, okay. This is serious.”

And Bitty froze, because never in his life had he ever heard Ransom sound so serious. Not even during Coral Reef mode when he was trying to keep his anxiety from taking over completely. Bitty let out a breath, then asked, “What is this?”

“This is what you agreed to,” Ransom said. “I guess it’s sort of…lucky for you, that this is only going to go on a year, eh? Uh. I think? Actually, I don’t really know what the fuck his plans are going to be after this. I mean I don’t think the NHL bros are going to…I mean maybe. I’ve heard of stranger things but yeah I mean…shit, I wonder if he thought of that.”

“Honey,” Bitty said, and Ransom looked at him. “You’re babbling.”

“Yeah. I haven’t had to explain this to a person before, and when Adam and I got dibs I passed out like halfway through so…” He trailed off, which did nothing to ease Bitty’s nerves.

But Bitty was trying to be brave enough to follow Ransom to the basement door because clearly—from the mention of the NHL—this had something to do with Jack. It was dark below, strangely humid, though the air was cold, and a shiver went up Bitty’s spine as he followed Ransom down.

As they neared the bottom, Bitty heard talking—Shitty’s voice, and Lardo’s. There was the low rumble of Jack, who sounded further away than the other two, and a strange noise. Like a heavy, clinking metal dragging across concrete.

Bitty reached for Ransom without really thinking, and Ransom didn’t hesitate before taking Bitty’s hand. “This is going to be rough, bro. It was…when I found out, I was fucked up for weeks. But it’s better to just get this out of the way now, you know? So you know what to do when you get back to the haus in August.”

Bitty let himself be pulled past the wall, to where the basement opened up. Bitty didn’t spend a lot of time down there. Usually just to throw his clothes in the wash, and sometimes to fetch things from their spare fridge. But the place always had a strange smell, and something about it was eerie. He assumed it was just the creep-factor of any basement.

Now, however, he was starting to understand. Behind what he thought was a wall, was a massive cage—huge iron bars from floor to ceiling, and behind them sat Jack—naked, and chained. Bitty felt panic rise—felt himself dragged back to middle school, pulled by the hair by boys bigger and stronger than him, and shoved into a utility cupboard for most of the night.

He started to rush toward Jack, but Ransom’s grip was tight on him. Jack let out a snarl, leaning toward the opening of the bars and sneered, “Keep him the fuck back.”

Bitty swallowed and glanced in terror at the others. “What the fresh hell is this?” he demanded. “This isn’t…you can’t just…”

“Bits,” Shitty said, his voice placating, soft. He reached for Bitty who wrenched himself away, though he was still firmly in Ransom’s arms. “I know this is really fuckin’ hard to believe. I mean, if I hadn’t seen it for the last three years my damn self, I’d think everyone was fucking with me. But this is real.”

“What’s real?” Bitty said, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Ransom and Shitty shared a look, then Ransom said. “Jack’s a werewolf.”

“Ha. Ha.” Bitty ineffectively tried to wriggle out of Ransom’s grasp. “I get it. New guy in the haus, trying to mess with my head. I mean, I gotta say this is an elaborate set up but…”

Bitty’s words died on his tone when Jack gave a violent cry. The sound of the chains were deafening as Jack struggled against them, leaving Bitty’s ears ringing. He watched, unable to tear his gaze away as Jack contorted on the ground. His brow broke out into sweat, his spine arched. And then, after a long moment of what seemed like eternal agony, Jack flopped onto his belly and sighed out a breath of relief.

“What,” Bitty murmured.

“It only gets worse from here,” Lardo said, reaching over to link her hand with Bitty’s. “It takes a couple of hours before he begins the actual transformation.”

Bitty’s eyes tore back to Jack who was panting on the ground. One of his arms was twisted back, the sound of a bone snapping like a gunshot. Then Jack’s arm dropped, and he let out a sob, curling into himself.

“This isn’t funny,” Bitty said.

Shitty’s brow was furrowed. “No, brah. It’s not funny. It’s the worst fucking thing you’re ever going to see in this lifetime, probably.”

Bitty blinked owlishly, then looked over at Shitty who had gone quiet. “Can’t you…can’t you give him something? Knock him out? Anything?”

Bitty’s question was punctuated by another cry from Jack, and then a sob, and Shitty swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “Nothing works, m’dude. He just has to…get through it.”

Opening his mouth to ask why, to ask how, to ask a million questions running through his mind, his words were drowned out as Jack’s hips snapped, and he let out a violent shriek.

***

Lardo and Shitty had been right. It only got worse, it lasted for hours, and it was the worst thing Bitty had ever seen.

By the time the moon had risen in the sky, Jack was transformed. After hours and hours of bones breaking, screaming agony, claws tearing bloody through his fingers—now at the floor of the cage sat a wolf with narrowed yellow eyes, bared fangs, and chains wrapped tight round its legs and neck.

Bitty felt a prickle of fear—could see the humanity slowly draining from Jack’s eyes as he became more and more wolfish until now—pure animal, pure rage. “How long do we…?” Bitty asked.

“All night,” Ransom said. His eyes flickered the wall where a couple of guns and crossbows sat. “That’s a last resort. The guns have tranqs in them which will disable him for a couple of minutes. The crossbow is loaded with silver arrows. Those will kill him.”

Bitty felt his heart hammer against his ribs, and when it did, Jack began to growl and throw himself at the cage.

“He can smell your blood pumping. From the panic,” Lardo said, oddly calm during all of this.

Bitty swallowed thickly. “How did,” his voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “How did this happen to him?”

“We don’t know. He won’t tell us,” Ransom said. “He was turned halfway through his Freshman year. Bob used to come down and…and deal with it, before Shitty found out. It was an agreement of the haus after that, that we’d take care of it. So we are. We’re taking care of it. We chain him up and leave him there to rot until sunrise.”

Bitty shuddered. “Is he…when he’s like this, is he still in pain?”

“The worst sort,” Shitty confessed. “His nature is to kill. Humans, mostly, but he’d probably go for animals, too. He’s meant to be in a pack, but we can’t let that happen. So we let him suffer once a month.”

Bitty didn’t know what to say, what to think. Jack wasn’t his best friend, but they’d been doing better, getting a little closer. To see him like this, the sheer suffering—the sheer torture. He understood, of course. The idea of letting Jack loose on innocent people...

He wanted to know, though, who had done this. Who had attacked Jack, cursed him like this. No one knew, but Bitty ached to have somewhere to place the blame.

Bitty hadn’t slept. He watched with rapt attention and his breath stuck in his chest as Jack began the slow transformation back. The night of attempted escape, of slamming himself against the bars, clawing and biting at his own body, had worn him down. He didn’t manage more than a pathetic whimper as his bones began to crack, to bend, to shatter and reform into the man that would be his captain.

How? How had Bitty known Jack for a full year, and never known he suffered this? Checking practises and game nights at the haus, and roadies, and never once did Bitty ever suspect Jack went through something like this. He sat with his knees clutched against his chest as Jack’s naked form lay bleeding and torn on the concrete floor. Jack’s head was turned toward Bitty, his eyes shut, his breathing laboured but steady.

Bitty was grateful he was alone for the moment, grateful when he asked if he could be the one to take care of Jack in the morning, the others agreed. Shitty had left him the key with the promise that he not open it until the sun was fully up. There was a first aid basket, thermos of warm tea waiting, a stack of blankets and, for when Jack was ready to tolerate anything, a soft hoodie and pair of joggers.

Blinking up at the sun filtering through the small, fogged basement window, Bitty finally rose and unlocked the bars. They swept back with a loud creak, but Jack didn’t stir. Bitty knelt beside him, placing the flat of his palm against Jack’s back, feeling his breath, feeling the warmth seeping back into his skin. He unlocked the manacles on his neck, wrists, and ankles, flinging them as far from Jack as he could manage, and then he got to work.

The cuts were the worst on his arms—the front parts of him too close to the claws, too close to his teeth. Bitty wore gloves as Shitty instructed. “The infection comes from the saliva, and I don’t think it can turn you from Jack’s bites, but we can’t be sure and we can’t afford the risk,” Lardo had told him. So Bitty was meticulous about cleaning the wounds without letting any of it touch him.

Rolling Jack onto his back, Bitty worked on his front. Jack groaned a little, wincing, but he didn’t come to just yet. But he was properly bandaged, and from the rest of his skin which was unblemished, Bitty had a feeling the scars would probably fade long before the next full moon.

Bitty couldn’t be sure what was worse—to keep his body the way it was, or to have nothing to show for the violent torture he suffered once a month.

When Jack’s wounds were fully dressed, Bitty grabbed the blanket from the floor and tucked it round Jack’s body. He was warming up, but his skin was still cold, and he was shivering a little as Bitty got to the final wound on his thigh. When Bitty tucked him in, Jack let out a small sigh, and shuffled onto his side. Bitty sat with his back against the wall, not more than a hair’s breadth away from Jack’s calf, and he waited.

And he waited.

***

It was clear from the frown on Jack’s face, he didn’t expect Bitty to still be there. From what Ransom had described, Bitty could only assume most of the first-timers panicked and fled for their first full moon experience. Jack’s brows dipped in a low frown, and he pressed his palm to the cold floor, pushing himself up just slightly.

“Hey,” Bitty said, very soft. He felt an inexplicable urge to brush his fingers through Jack’s hair. Something his mother would do for him when he was poorly—only this wasn’t poorly, this was something else entirely. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting. “Hey, um. Shitty left tea.”

Jack muttered something, raspy and soft, and pushed himself up a little further. Bitty scrambled for what Shitty left, and when he took the cap off, he could smell the distinct weed scent and knew immediately what it was. Which was, in hindsight, probably the best thing for Jack. He poured some into the lid, then sat cross-legged beside Jack’s torso.

Jack’s hand shook, but he managed the tea, and gulped it down in long, smooth swallows until it was empty. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely there.

Bitty took it back as Jack collapsed down, his cheek smooshed slightly against the concrete. “Do you want more?”

Jack shook his head, a half-gesture, and his eyes slipped closed. “Not just yet.”

“Do you want me to go?” Bitty offered. He knew he and Jack were better, but he also knew he wasn’t Jack’s most favourite person in the world so…

“Please stay,” Jack rasped. He cleared his throat, though it didn’t make his voice sound stronger. “It’s easier when I’m not alone.”

Bitty made an aborted sound, capping the tea. He didn’t think touch would be welcome, so he just sat near, and let his eyes close, wishing there was anything in the world to make this better.

***

One moon. That’s all Bitty got. One moon before he was shipping back off to Georgia, knowing Jack was going to be…well…wherever he was heading. Training camps for part of it, and Montréal with his parents for the rest. Clearly Bob knew, and clearly his parents could take care of it, but for whatever reason, Bitty felt physical pain the first full moon in June. He sat at his window and tried not to think of Jack, tried not to hyperventilate, tried to tell himself Jack had been doing this for years on his own, and he was going to be okay.

It didn’t stop him from sending a text when he knew the sun was up fully, and there was a good chance Jack was awake.

_I hope it went okay last night. Thinking about you._

The reply didn’t come for hours, but when it did, Bitty sank into his sheets, like a weight had been lifted off him.

**I’m good, Bittle.**

Another ten minutes passed, and then:

**But thanks.**

***

One full moon in July. One in August—this one the day before Jack’s birthday, which Bitty felt like a punch to the gut. The moon in September, they’d be at the haus, they’d be together again. Bitty could wait it out, and take care of Jack during the morning, and things would settle into their new routine.

Lardo and Shitty took notice—Ransom and Holster seemed more relieved than anything to be excused from morning Jack-duty—but no one had the balls to argue with Bitty when he set his mind to this. Shitty only said something once, “You don’t have to do this alone, brah.”

Bitty had fixed him with his most unamused stare and said simply, “Bless your heart, Shitty Knight, but yes I do.”

That was the end of each argument.

Jack became accustomed to waking up and seeing Bitty’s face first. Most of the time they didn’t say a word. Jack would sleep, he’d drink his tea, he’d dress slowly, and let Bitty get him up the stairs. He’d sleep nearly twenty-four hours, and wake up without a scratch, without a limp, without fatigue.

Bitty wanted to say it could be worse. Logic dictated it could. Jack could feel every scratch, every ache and pain for weeks like a person who did not preternaturally heal. But when Bitty closed his eyes some nights, he could hear Jack’s screams, and he knew that no amount of recovery could make that worth it, could make pain-free mornings feel like any sort of blessing in this curse.

So.

It was what it was.

***

Bitty found it ironic and maybe a little cruel when Shitty had the frogs and Jack howling on the ice like wolves. He wondered if maybe Shitty didn’t have some hidden cruel streak under all his feminist rants and social justice marches. But Jack was laughing, and the frogs seemed happy, and everyone was pleasantly drunk except Jack, but even then, Jack seemed content.

At the haus, the frogs only last another hour and a half before they were so, as Shitty put it, “Bitch-ass shit-faced,” and Ransom and Holster had already brought a couple of girls from the volleyball team to their rooms. Shitty was still manning the tub-juice, and Lardo was doing her best at trying to keep Shitty’s boxers on for the remainder of the night.

It was only Jack and Bitty, in the end, stood in the kitchen with Jack leaning on the counter, and Bitty carefully cutting butter into flour for pie.

“Stop staring at me,” Bitty complained, his mouth twisting up in a little smirk. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“What?” Jack said, “You’re a mind-reader now?”

“Stranger things have been known to happen in this haus,” Bitty said, the words just slipping out. He realised the moment he’d said them, and a hot flush crept up his neck. It wasn’t that Jack’s condition was taboo, but it was a secret, and apart from that they just…never talked about it. Ever. He turned guilty eyes over to Jack. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

After a long, tense pause, Jack let out a puff of air and crushed the beer can he’d been drinking from without an ounce of effort. “You’re not wrong, Bittle.”

“Well…well I know that, Jack,” Bitty said with a slight huff. “Lord knows I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, but…but I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

Jack shrugged one shoulder, shuffling his feet a little awkwardly. “It isn’t that. I mean, okay fair, I don’t like to talk about it. It’s okay if you need to, though.”

Bitty bit back his retort that no one in the haus wanted talk about it, and he could need to until he was blue in the face, but it wasn’t going to make anyone comfortable with him opening up about it. And he sure wasn’t about to make the man who suffered through it every month act as a sort of diary about his feelings. “It’s fine, Jack,” he said, carefully adding the vodka to the crust. “Really. It might not be somethin’ I ever anticipated happening in my life, but it’s routine now, you know?”

“I didn’t want this for you,” Jack said, very quietly. “Bittle I…” He bit his lip so hard, Bitty saw white bloom round where his teeth pressed in. “I didn’t want this for anyone.”

Bitty turned, abandoning the crust, not caring that his hands were still slightly dusty, and he reached across the counter to seize Jack’s wrists. For a split second, he heard Jack screaming, heard the clink of the manacles, saw the terror in his eyes right before the change started. He breathed through it. “It’s a lot for me—for us. But for you, Jack? I can’t even imagine, and if this is all we have to bear in order to take care of you, then it’s fine. I’ll suffer in silence for a hundred years if it means it’s even a second easier for you. Okay?”

Jack stared at him a long time, then carefully drew his arms away. “Alright, Bittle. I…” He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“Of course, hun. Now, do you want to help me with this pie? Or are you going to stand there and keep chirping me.”

“Maybe I’ll tweet about it,” Jack said with a small grin, and Bitty rolled his eyes.

“Aaand there it is.”

***

“…afraid of what they’re going to think about you, Zimms?”

“I haven’t been afraid in a long time, Kenny.”

“And yet they still don’t know? What do you think they’d say if I told them you got down on your knees and begged…”

“I will tear you to pieces!”

“You know I’m stronger than you, Zimms. And I’ll rip your throat out. Then I’ll come after your team, after that pretty little…”

Bitty found himself flying backwards, slamming against the wall opposite Jack’s bedroom door at the sound of the animalistic, violent growl. There was a scuffle, and the door flung open. Jack and Parse appeared then, looking ruffled, pink-cheeked, Jack’s hair mussed and shirt rucked up. There was something along the side of Parse’s neck, four red marks, swollen on his pale skin.

They looked at each other, then back at Bitty.

For a split second, Bitty imagined them both changing, shifting form and tearing him to pieces in a rage. It was almost in the air between them, in a way. And then Parse smirked, huffed, grabbed his hat from the other side of the door handle and jammed it over his hair. He ran a hand along his neck, and if Bitty hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes, he wouldn’t have believed the way the marks just…faded into nothing.

Unblemished, Parse turned to Jack and stepped out of the room. “If you change your mind…you know where to find me. But go on, keep hiding here. I’m sure it’ll make your dad proud.”

Parse turned on his heel and stormed off.

Bitty could practically see the hackles raised on the back of Jack’s neck. For a half second he thought Jack was going to turn, to slam the door in Bitty’s face and disappear for the rest of the night like he always did. It had been a miracle in the first place that Jack had appeared at the party at all. Big crowds were usually too hard for him to navigate, and it was only a week before the full moon which meant he was extra sensitive. But they’d talked, had a few drinks, Jack had told him harrowing stories about how Jack had single-handedly stopped the football team from wreaking havoc during a party.

And Bitty’s heart-eyes had been growing bigger and bigger, the swirling, confusing feelings of a crush on this poor, tortured straight boy he had no business having feelings for raging through him. And part of him was starting to wonder, because during the night Jack had been creeping closer and closer, spending more time with Bitty than he would have under any other circumstances.

It had been good. It had been so good, and the start to so many deep-buried fantasies Bitty had been coming up with regarding Jack.

Only none of them had ended with the room going quiet, and Jack getting very pale, and a Stanley Cup-winning NHL star appearing in the centre of the room, asking for Jack’s attention.

Now Parse was gone, and Bitty was still stood there, and Jack had not retreated to the sanctuary of his room. He was gripping the door frame so tightly, Bitty could see the wood bowing, but he wasn’t back away. He was looking at Bitty curiously, a storm of emotions raging in his eyes. Then he let out a defeated breath and said, “It’s probably better if you come in. So we can talk.”

Bitty was trembling. There was a part of him that was terrified of Jack. Bitty assumed it was natural, of course. Twenty-nine days a month, Jack was just…he was just Jack. The sweet-natured, slightly cranky, awkward Canadian hockey-player with no concept of pop culture. But one day a month he was a predator—one day a month he would have liked to rip free of chains and if given the chance, would have mauled Bitty to death, would have feasted on him.

Somewhere deep inside, Bitty knew to be afraid.

But he also trusted Jack. Maybe that was misguided, maybe his feelings for Jack were clouding his reason, but whatever the reason, he didn’t hesitate when Jack stepped aside and made room for Bitty. The lock on the door clicked as Bitty moved toward the bed, and he felt a line of tension form in his shoulders as Jack crossed to the other side of the room and locked the bathroom door.

“To keep Shitty out,” Jack said when Bitty’s worry must have shown on his face. “Sit,” he ordered.

Bitty sank to the edge of Jack’s bed, and Jack took the swivel chair, letting his legs part, his hands hanging between them almost defeated.

“I’m not going to pretend like I don’t know what you heard,” Jack confessed.

Bitty swallowed thickly, his fear threatening to overwhelm him. Jack’s eyes, his tone, his entire demeanour, was calm and easy. But Bitty knew better than to totally let his guard down. There was a faint, hungry look in Jack’s eye that Bitty wasn’t sure how to handle. “I didn’t hear much. I…I had come up to lock my room. Shitty said…said someone might mistake it for a bathroom.”

Jack snorted. “It’s been known to happen.”

Bitty tried for a smile, failed, swallowed against a dry throat and took a breath. “Parse knows about you.”

Jack blinked, almost startled, then let out a very low, soft, almost sweet chuckle. “Yeah, Bittle. Parse knows about me. He was there when I um. He was…” Jack stuttered a little, almost like he was unsure how to say it. “I know you’re not a huge hockey fan,” Jack said.

Bitty stared at Jack, a little confused about why they were suddenly talking about hockey. He wanted to assume it was because Jack had a point, but knowing Jack, he might not have. “Um. I mean, well you know I like hockey, you know I…”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck. He made a noise of slight frustration, staring at his feet, and he didn’t see the way it made Bitty jump a little. “I’ve never missed a game. I mean, any game we watch, I’ve never missed one due to the uh. Due to the moon.”

Bitty frowned, nodding. “Okay? I mean, I’ve never really paid attention before but…”

“That’s what I mean. It’s not…it’s not something you’d notice. The others might have. They’ve never said, but…”

“Jack,” Bitty said, his voice soft. He was still afraid, but that was warring with the urge to climb into Jack’s lap and hold him—kiss him—do anything to make the pain on his face go away. “What’s that got to do with this? With Parse and you and…and everything?”

“There’s never an NHL game scheduled during a full moon,” Jack said simply. He clasped, then unclasped his hands. He dragged one down his face, then let out a puff of air. “You can’t say anything, Bittle. To anyone. Ever.”

“I wouldn’t,” Bitty said, his voice a near whisper. Part of him was begging silently, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know, I don’t want this secret, I can’t handle the burden. But part of him was desperate to know something, anything, that would make this all make sense.

“No one really knows how it happened. Werewolves pre-date hockey by…well, by forever, I guess. Wolves have existed since the dawn of man. But it became a hockey problem when the Cougars beat the Habs in 1925. No one really knows how it happened. They just know that the morning following the final game, six players were found mauled—bloody—ripped to pieces. They didn’t die. Somehow, they healed—like a miracle, they called it. Someone said the miracle was the Stanley Cup. They didn’t realise that in a month, things would be…” Jack breathed out sharply. “Legend turned it into a curse. My personal guess is that someone on the team had been turned for a long time, had assumed his strength and skill would guarantee him the championship, and when he failed, he got angry. It should have ended there, but it didn’t. It wasn’t about winning the cup after that year, though. But throughout the season, players would go missing, they’d appear days later confused, hungry, strong. The following full moon would prove why.”

“Jack,” Bitty breathed.

Jack dared a look up. “Werewolves are everywhere, but the NHL is…it’s a pack, of sorts. In a twisted way, it’s almost become a rite of passage—the best players accept the curse, take the bite, become a legend.”

“Is Parse…?” Bitty’s voice trailed off into a faint whisper.

Jack turned his eyes toward the window, almost like he was afraid someone could hear them. “Players in the Q don’t know. I mean, some of them know, some of them have fathers who were bitten—but to most of them, it’s a legend. They don’t even know it’s about lycanthropy. They think it’s some sort of magic ritual, they’ll gain powers if they can prove they’re the best. Kenny and I both knew.”

“Is your dad…?”

Jack barked out a sharp laugh. “He was twenty when he was turned. I never knew. My parents hid it—they were determined that whatever happened to me, I’d never suffer like that. I knew something was wrong, though. My dad had turned before I was born, so…so in a way, I already had pieces of the curse inside me. You know about the over-dose,” Jack said.

Bitty flushed, nodding. “I. Um. Yes, I know.”

Jack shrugged easily. “Having anxiety and heightened senses made everything that much worse. I didn’t know how to separate one from the other, no one wanted to help me. My parents didn’t understand they were two separate things, they thought I would just get over it. I didn’t. Kenny was convinced that he and I would get drafted, that we’d receive our powers together, dominate the NHL. But I went to rehab, and he went to the draft. When I woke up in hospital, my dad told me everything—what he was, what he was trying to protect me from. He had someone come in and…and help. Help me work through and parse out what was anxiety, and what was this…this thing running through my blood.” Jack stopped, taking a breath. “I almost called Kenny, but I didn’t know how to tell him. I thought he’d just laugh in my face and accuse me of being high.”

Bitty felt a sharp sting of rage rush through him in spite of knowing he might have thought the same thing, if he hadn’t seen it all for himself. So, he asked the other question plaguing him. “Why are you telling me this, Jack?”

Jack looked at him, almost startled. “Because I…because you’re there for me. Every moon, every morning, I wake up and I see your face. And I…” He trailed off, his fingers twitching, curling into a fist, like he was stopping himself from reaching out to touch Bitty. Bitty almost, almost, told him not to hold back. “I trust you,” he finally said.

“Okay.” Bitty licked his lips. “Okay.”

Jack’s eyes flickered to the window again, at the almost full moon, and he shivered. “I thought it was better if I never talked to Kent again. He’d find out in his own time, and all I could do was hope it would never reach him. By that point I’d seen my dad transform, I saw the…I saw what it was like. The horror, and it terrified me.” Jack’s voice and hands both shook. “I never thought if Kenny was cursed, he’d…that he would…” Jack stopped, and it all hit Bitty like a sack of bricks.

“It was Parse,” he asked, his voice nearly a sharp hiss. “Parse did this to you?”

“He won the Stanley Cup the year he was bitten. He thought I would…” Jack stopped, licking his lips before forcing himself to go on. “He showed up here with the cup, the night of the full moon. I didn’t think twice about it. No one was home—there was a huge party at the drama house on the other side of campus, and I didn’t feel like going. Kent showed up about an hour before moonrise, asked me to talk. We went down to the basement. I didn’t hear him locking the door, didn’t realise anything was going on until…” Jack sat back, covering his face with his hands as he blew out shaking air. “Later he told me he thought it was a gift. That I didn’t have to suffer the way so many other players did. That his own pack ran wild in the desert every full moon and it stopped hurting when he transformed.”

“Oh my god,” Bitty breathed.

Jack shrugged, dropping his hands and clenching them into fists. “My dad wanted to kill him. He nearly did, but my mom convinced him it wasn’t worth it. What was done was done. Kent knows if I sign with an east coast team, I’ll be locked up like I am now. That I’ll torture myself for the rest of my life.”

“Is that what you want?” Bitty asked.

Jack seemed confused by the question. “Bittle…they kill people. Parse and his pack they…they kill tourists, campers. They’re not out in the desert hunting deer or whatever. They’re sniffing out humans. I’d rather suffer.”

Bitty chewed on his lip, then nodded. “When he came here, did he ask you if you wanted it?”

Jack gave a hollow, pained laugh. “I knew what he was up to after about fifteen minutes. He was rambling on about gifts, and being powerful, and how the two of us could dominate the ice together if I’d let him. I realised what he was up to, begged him to stop, told him I didn’t want to be like my dad. He just kept telling me that my dad was wrong, that it didn’t have to be that way, that I had to trust him. I couldn’t get past him. It was too close to the moon. I’ve always been strong thanks to my dad but…that close to the moon, he was stronger. I thought I’d have a chance to get out during the change—I’d seen my dad, I knew it took hours. But it didn’t occur to me it was different for Kenny. I should have. Half an hour before moonrise I’m completely incapacitated. But he was walking, talking, laughing, smiling. Then…then he was just…on his knees. It happened so fast, and the next thing I remember was pain. He was gone when I woke up, but he’d texted me telling me when I changed my mind, to call him.”

“Jack…”

“I think he thought I’d give in after the first shift.”

Bitty had never wanted to cause anyone pain before. Not even the bullies who locked him in the closet—not really. Not the way he was feeling now, not the things he was thinking about Parse. Part of him wished he could channel Jack’s own curse into himself, just for as long as it took to rip Parse’s throat out. He breathed through the rage, then looked back up at Jack.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I could ever be as brave as you,” he confessed.

Jack let out another, hollow, dry laugh. “It isn’t bravery, Bittle. I…I don’t know what it is, but I won’t call it bravery.”

Something in the air was shifting, heady and thick, giving Bitty courage he didn’t think he’d have under any other circumstances. He felt drunk on it, intoxicated like he’d been in Shitty’s room too long, and he found himself rising from the bed, closing the short distance between himself and Jack.

His hand was out, reaching for Jack’s face until he heard the sharp intake of breath, and he came back to himself almost violently. He met Jack’s stormy blue eyes, his hand still hovered in the air between them. “Jack, I…”

“Bittle.” Jack swallowed thickly, then his own hand rose, his palm almost searing hot as it grasped round Bitty’s wrist. “Bitty,” he said.

Bitty felt the use of his familiar name like a punch to the gut, his lungs exhaling the air he’d been holding.

Jack rose, not that much taller than him in reality, but it felt like he was towering, his bulk shadowing Bitty, crowding him backward, backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed.

“If we do this,” Jack said, the words tumbling from his lips like he couldn’t help it. He stopped speaking, his free hand cupping Bitty’s cheek, engulfing him. Bitty felt frozen to the spot as Jack’s head dipped low, not for a kiss, but to bury his nose in the crook of Bitty’s neck and breathe him in.

It hit Bitty, what Jack was doing, and an almost hysterical laugh bubbled from his gut, making his throat tense. “Jack,” he said.

Jack’s hands moved from Bitty’s wrist and neck, to his hair, gripping almost painfully as he wrenched Bitty’s head up to look at him. “I want you.” The words were almost a growl, somewhere between animal and human.

Bitty was hovering in a limbo somewhere between abject terror and a sort of base, animalistic desire. He could see Jack’s jaw tensing and releasing, and for a second he swore he saw Jack’s eyes flash amber. “Okay. Okay, Jack.”

Jack’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips, then his mouth descended—again, not to Bitty’s lips, but to his neck where he bit down. Something shot through Bitty, intense, horrifying and hot all at the same time. Then Jack’s mouth was on his, and Bitty lost himself to the sensations of it all.

***

He was Jack’s. Utterly, completely. Marked in a way that wasn’t visible, but the way Jack snuffled against him and kept Bitty close with a hand possessively on the flat of his belly, he could feel it. He wanted it, wanted this. It had been everything he’d been dreaming about, and more.

Nothing about it was terrifying. Nothing was depraved or inhuman. Jack’s teeth grazed the skin of his neck—harder than Bitty might have wanted at first, but he’d seen worse marks on Holster from a long night in the attic with Ransom and some girl. Jack had been surprisingly tender, surprisingly attentive, making sure Bitty was okay at every turn, eyes always locked, searching for not just consent, but assent—for the idea that Bitty wanted this as much as Jack did.

They were both a little sticky from a terrible job cleaning up with tissues, and Bitty was sore in places he didn’t realise could get sore from fucking, but it was a delicious feeling. He basked in it as he stretched and watched the early morning light creep through the windows.

For all that Jack had spent nearly a year waking Bitty at the crack of dawn, Jack seemed to love sleeping in. He woke slow late into the morning, and offered a sleepy grin when he realised Bitty was still in his bed, still curled up in his arms.

“Hey,” Jack said, his voice hoarse.

Bitty almost laughed. “Hey yourself, Jack. Did you sleep okay?”

“Better than I have in years,” Jack answered, the honesty in his voice almost painful. “I didn’t…last night, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Bitty snickered this time, burying his face against Jack’s neck. He could still smell the tang of sex between them. “No, sweetheart. I mean, not in any ways I didn’t want. Last night was amazing.”

When he pulled back, Jack’s fingers brushed through Bitty’s hair, and he kissed him, closed-mouth and sweet, and eventually they got up for the day. They still had a few days left of classes, before the full moon, and Jack was on edge, but he seemed happy to have Bitty there.

Bitty and Jack took their time, walking through the heavy snow toward Annie’s then toward the rest of their day.

***

The moon was five days later. Bitty was the only one in the basement, checking the chains were still secure. Jack was meticulously folding his joggers and hoodie, glancing at Bitty carefully as they worked together. There was a slight tremble in his fingers.

“Is it more spooky when the full moon’s this close to Halloween?” Bitty asked.

Jack frowned, then laughed. “No, Bittle. There’s no significance there.”

Bitty shrugged, offering a sweet smile, muttering about the pumpkin flavoured things he wanted to bake up before the party. He rambled on a while, until he noticed Jack was staring at him again with that frown, with pale cheeks and a shake in his hands.

“Sweetheart?”

Jack licked his lips, then turned away. “I’m not sure you should be here tonight.”

Bitty felt like Jack had punched him in the sternum. “What? Jack, I’m not…it’s not going to make things different.”

Jack shook his head. “It is different, though. I can feel it. I want…” He dragged his fingers through this hair, then turned and approached Bitty, his hands reaching for Bitty’s shoulders. “I can already feel the hunger. It’s…the wolf is going to want you. And it’s not going to be kinder. If anything, it’ll be angrier, more dangerous. I don’t want to risk it.”

Bitty shook his head, opening his mouth to protest, but Jack pushed a finger lightly against his lips.

“Please. Not just for you, but for me. The angrier the wolf is, the more it hurts me. Please just…”

“Okay,” Bitty whispered, and finished what he was doing, now prepared to spend his first full moon night away from Jack since he found out the truth.

***

Bitty pressed his head to the basement door, his entire body aching, an almost unnatural desire to break the door open and rush down there. Jack was angrier than ever, and even the soundproofing they’d done on the basement door and walls wasn’t enough to keep Jack’s thrashing and howling down. Ransom was sat by Bitty, holding his ankles as a way of keeping him grounded, but as the night wore on, the more Bitty was desperate.

“What the hell, Bits?” Ransom asked as Bitty kicked him. “Bro, you know this is a bad idea. I don’t know what the fuck got into him but…”

“Me,” Bitty gasped. “Me. It was me. He needs me, okay? He was wrong. He’s going to hurt himself, not me. I need to…”

“Bits, this is…”

Ransom didn’t finish his sentence. Bitty managed to break one of his legs free and his foot collided with Ransom’s sternum, knocking the wind out of him. It was just enough time for Bitty to get on his feet, wrench the door open, and fly down the stairs.

The rest of it happened in a strange way—when Bitty thought about it later, it was like slow-motion, like watching someone else move in his own body. Shitty and Lardo were too taken by surprise to stop him when he breeched the room and tumbled down the stairs. He hit his arm hard going down, feeling something snap, but it didn’t matter.

Jack needed him. If he could get to the cage, just get near him, the wailing and howling would stop. Bitty could smell blood as he approached, and nothing was going to stop him. Nothing. He would make it right, Jack just needed to be near him and things would be better. He’d stop being in so much pain, he wouldn’t hurt himself, he wouldn’t…

Bitty knew one moment of searing agony as Jack’s claws dug into his arm, holding him in place. He felt the violent, burning rush down his neck as Jack dragged him close, pressing Bitty’s face between the bars, and bit down. Then everything went dark.

***

Feeling like he’d just run forty miles, drunk, wearing high heels, Bitty woke with a faint groan. The sun coming through the window was violently bright, sending waves of stabbing pain through his skull as the light sank through his closed eyelid. With a hiss, he reached up to touch his left temple, and jolted when his fingers came into contact with heavy bandages.

Attempting to open his eyes, he found his right one was exposed, and though his vision was blurry, he could make out the inside of his room.

“Shit. He’s awake.” Ransom.

“Oh, dude.” Holster.

“Brah, can you hear us?” Shitty.

Bitty pushed his hands into the mattress, his left arm screaming with pain, but he managed to right himself just slightly against his pillow. “What the hell happened?”

“I tried to stop you,” Ransom said. He was perched in a chair near the end of Bitty’s bed, staring forlornly. “I don’t know how you managed to knock me down like that, but…”

Bitty licked his lips, tasting blood. His fingers explored more, coming into contact with more bandages, more scabs crusted along his skin. He didn’t…he couldn’t have…

“What did I do?” he asked, his voice a trembling whisper. “What happened?”

“We managed to get you away from him before it was worse than this but…” Shitty trailed off, running his fingers back through his hair. “Jack’s been awake for a few hours. He said you’ll probably heal. He said everything should…he said it shouldn’t be permanent.”

“Jack,” Bitty murmured, and it started coming back. The thoughts in his head, the desperation to be with him, to calm him, the belief he could soothe him. He almost laughed, bitter and angry about what a damn fool he’d been. Pain gripped his heart at the guilt Jack was probably feeling. He’d tried to keep Bitty away, had done his best to ensure no one would get hurt, and like a fool, Bitty had let his feelings get in the way. “What did he do?”

“We thought he tore your arm off, but just claws got you there,” Holster said softly. “Your face though um. Before we could get you away he got your cheek, your ear your um. Your eye…”

Bitty felt his hand move, pressing into the bandage which was thick and heavy. It felt swollen, not empty, but he wasn’t sure he’d know the difference if his eye was gone. Would he? And did this mean he was…that he would…

“Am I…have I become…?”

“We think so,” Holster said, very soft, voice dripping with regret. “Jack said there’s probably no way you’re not.”

Bitty winced, but pushed himself toward the end of the bed. “I need to see him.”

“Bits, that’s not a good idea. He’s not,” Shitty began, trying to stop Bitty from rising. “The mood he’s in…”

“I don’t care,” Bitty snapped. “If I just got mauled and turned into a dang werewolf, I’m going to talk to the only one who can give me real answers. Now let me go or so help me…”

No one moved to stop him after that. Bitty was off-kilter, dizzy with pain, but he marched across the hall, and began to bang on Jack’s door as he hollered, “You let me in right now! You can’t hide from me, I don’t care what you think! I’m not going to stand here and let you—”

The door opened, and Bitty stumbled into Jack’s arms, holding himself steady as Jack let the door shut. Bitty looked up at him with his one good eye, and saw the gashes and bruises already starting to fade.

“How long til I heal?”

Jack swallowed thickly, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and tense. “Yours will take longer than mine. For your first time.”

“And there’s no chance…”

“No,” Jack interrupted, loud and harsh. “Don’t get your hopes up that it’ll be anything other than the change, Bittle. You were bit by a transformed werewolf. There’s no other way it can turn out werewolf except death—and even then, that’s rare.”

“So, if you’d managed to maul me completely, tear me to shreds, I’d have survived it?” Bitty asked.

Jack’s hands on him went painfully tight and he said with a sort of hollow certainty, “I did.”

Bitty’s knees buckled, and in spite of Jack still being weak, still healing, he managed to catch him and get him to the bed. Bitty let himself back up against Jack’s pillow, and wondered why the smell of him was still so comforting. Logic told him he should be terrified, furious, murderous. But the only thing he felt swirling in his gut was relief and comfort as Jack sat near him.

“Will my eye um…”

“Yes,” Jack interrupted. “All of it will heal.”

Bitty closed his good eye, breathed out, then looked at him again. “I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry.”

Jack was already shaking his head. “I did this, Bittle. I was selfish, and I was thoughtless. I wanted you too much, and I didn’t bother to think about your safety. This is my fault. I did this to you.”

“Jack, no,” Bitty said, reaching for him, his fingers twisting in the hem of Jack’s shirt to keep him from moving away. “No, you didn’t. I told you—I promised you I’d stay away and I didn’t.”

“You couldn’t,” Jack said quietly, his head bowed. “You couldn’t, because you had my saliva in your system too close to the moon, and you couldn’t resist me. The wolf knew it, and it called you, and you came.”

Bitty let his eye closed again, breathing out. “Your parents,” he said quietly.

“My mother leaves the country. Close enough to moonrise, and far enough away that even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to get back in time. I knew, but I didn’t think…I didn’t realise how impossible it would be to resist. I thought they were just…just being careful.” Jack let out a shuddering breath and his hand reached for Bitty in spite of the pain between them. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I failed you.”

Bitty wanted to be angry, wanted to blame someone. And he did, but it wasn’t anyone in this room. He twisted his hand round Jack’s wrist, pulling and tugging until Jack was lying beside him. “What’s done is done. And maybe next month when I’m being broken apart I’ll hate you for it, but all I can think about right now is wanting your arms around me. Is that…is that magic or…or whatever this is?”

“No,” Jack said. “That’s just you, being an idiot, loving a monster like me.”

“Well it looks like I’ve joined the monster club now, doesn’t it?” Bitty quipped.

“Hate me,” Jack begged.

Bitty shoved his face into the crook of Jack’s neck and breathed him in. The smell of him overwhelmed his senses, and he took a minute to just feel—things he hadn’t ever been able to feel before. “I love you,” he murmured. “I don’t even want to try to hate you. I can’t.”

“Okay,” Jack said, and wrapped his arms tight round Bitty. “I’m too selfish to try any harder than this.”

“I can live with that, sweetpea.” Bitty let his mouth lay a long, open kiss against Jack’s neck.

“You may change your mind next month,” Jack murmured.

Bitty shrugged. “Suppose you’re right. But I’m willing to take the risk.”

***

Jack found him in the bathroom, two fingers prying apart his eyelids to stare at the freshly grown eye lodged in his socket. There was no change, no difference. To anyone who looked at his face, they’d see the same Eric Bittle staring back at them.

But he knew. He knew that where freckled, pink skin sat on his cheeks had been torn, bloody, gaping wounds that shouldn’t have healed. That should have killed him. At the very least he should never be able to watch 3D movies again. And yet, here he was.

And yet, the only thing that felt any different was that he felt more…alive. Stronger. Like he could feel the connection between himself and the earth through the tips of his fingers.

He glanced at Jack in the mirror—the way Jack’s nostrils flared, the way his eyes were locked on Bitty’s collarbone, then dragging up the line where his claws had dug in, to where his teeth had torn him apart. Bitty wondered if Jack could remember it.

It was a question he’d never asked.

“Are we connected now? Is it like…like a vampire thing?” Bitty asked, turning away from the mirror.

Jack snorted. “Are you sired? No, Bittle. There’s a bond, if you pledge yourself to a pack but…no.”

“So why,” Bitty stopped, clearing his throat. “Why did your saliva in my system draw me to you?”

“It’s another way to hunt,” Jack admitted, his voice low. He pushed into the bathroom, letting the door close behind him, and crowded Bitty against the sink. His hands reached up, cupping Bitty round the ribs, fingers digging between them in a way that should have hurt, but didn’t. “Humans—regular humans—are lower than we are on the food-chain. They have the ability to hunt us, have ways to kill us. But we can draw them to us before we shift. It’s why we’re…more…” Jack licked his lips, breathing a little heavier. “Right before the moon, it’s why we’re…”

“Horny?” Bitty offered, remembering how charged Jack had been.

Jack flushed, but he didn’t break eye contact.

“Did it feel good? When you bit me?” Bitty asked bravely, though he was slightly terrified of the answer. “Did you like it?”

Jack shuddered as he yanked Bitty close, and devoured his mouth in a hungry kiss before pulling back to whisper in his ear, “It was the best change I’ve ever had.”

Bitty let his eyes close, his breathing hitched slightly in his chest. “You remember it, then?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “Yes, I remember every second. What you taste like, your blood in my mouth, your flesh between my teeth.”

“You want more,” Bitty asked.

Jack groaned, kissing his neck again. “I always want more. But I can’t have it.”

Bitty made a hum—maybe not of agreement, though he wasn’t sure Jack took it that way. But he was starting to feel things, to come to an understanding. He was starting to remember things Jack told him once. “Does it work on other wolves? The saliva trick. When you’re human, I mean?”

Jack frowned at him. “It works on any living creature not part of your pack, but I’m not sure it works on other werewolves.”

Bitty reached up, dragging his fingers through Jack’s hair. “Are you part of my pack, sweetpea?”

“Do you want me to be?” Jack asked.

Bitty’s eyes burned, like they were glowing from the inside. “Yes.”

Jack hesitated, then a small smile broke over his face, and he kissed Bitty once more. “Then I’m part of your pack.” He dove for Bitty’s neck then, and missed the triumphant look on his face.

***

“Hey Bits,” Ransom said. Everyone was cautious with him now—though they were a little too obvious in trying to be normal. The full moon was approaching, just a week and a half away, and Bitty knew they were trying to make preparations to house two werewolves now, instead of just the one. “What are you doing?”

“Just um.” Bitty stared at the screen, at the NHL website up, at the Aces schedule which listed them in Boston the day before the full moon. “Just making sure there’s no games next week.”

Ransom hummed. “Are you…” He stopped, sat down, gave Bitty a careful look. “We haven’t really talked about all this. And I know I’m probably not the guy you want to come to but like…man. Man, this has to be freaking you out.”

Bitty gave a tiny laugh. “I think what worries me most is now I have to come out to my parents as both gay and a dang supernatural creature.” He passed a hand down his face. “I feel like I should be afraid. I know what to expect, I know it’s going to be bad but I just…I can’t seem to care.”

Ransom bit his lip. “Maybe it was like that for Jack too. I mean, whatever happened when he got turned, maybe it was easy for him too.”

It wasn’t, Bitty thought. He knew it wasn’t. He knew Jack had been deliberately tricked into the bite, and then left to his own devices when he didn’t want to play the game exactly how Parse had lined it up. Rage rushed through him, and he pushed it aside. Now was not the time.

Instead he looked up, conjuring his most polite face ever and said, “Do you think Holster would let me borrow his Jeep in a few days? I have to run a quick errand. There’s endless pies in it for y’all if I can.”

Ransom’s brows lifted, but he shrugged. “Yeah, bro. I don’t see why not.”

Bitty leant across the table and squeezed Ransom’s wrist, now profoundly aware of his own strength. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Ransom smiled at him, like nothing in the world was wrong. And really—it wasn’t.

***

“Bits! Bits, where are you? We need to—” Jack’s voice ground to a halt in Bitty’s bedroom doorway. Bitty turned to find Jack there, cheeks flushed, the front of his joggers already tented.

It was an unexpected side effect, he discovered, that being in the house with two wolves as the moon approached, things got a little…heated. The team had taken to wearing ear plugs and staying out late over the last few days.

Bitty bit his lip, grabbing for his shirt, though he didn’t put it on. He felt white-hot desire shooting through his limbs, but when Jack crowded him up against the wall, he didn’t give in. “Sweetpea,” he said, gasping only a little as Jack’s hands dragged down the front of his naked chest. “Do you really think we have time? Moonrise is in two hours.”

Jack groaned, pushing his face against Bitty’s neck, snuffling there even as the plastic bag in his hand crinkled. “I know we don’t. I just…” He groaned loudly. “I want you.”

“There will be time later,” Bitty said. He pushed Jack backward a step, then looked down. “You got what I asked for?”

Jack frowned, holding it up. “Strongest pain-killers I could find over the counter. Also, do you know why the basement is locked?”

“Oh.” Bitty smiled at him sweetly. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Everything’s fine, I swear. I have the key, anyway.” He pulled it out of his pocket and held it under Jack’s eyeline. “You ready?”

Jack sighed, dropping the back and dragging Bitty back against him. This time it was without the raw, animalistic passion. This was an embrace of comfort, of fear. “I never wanted this for you,” Jack murmured.

Bitty closed his eyes and nodded. “I know. I know, baby. We can talk more about it downstairs.”

Jack frowned at that, but let their fingers link together as they took their supplies and walked to the basement door. Bitty paused, listening, and then opened it, shoving Jack in first, then himself, and locked it behind them.

If Jack found that strange, he didn’t say anything.

Possibly, Bitty realised, because he could smell the other wolf down there. He could smell humans who were unconscious, and a wolf who was covered in the scent of apprehension and fear. Jack turned to look at him, and Bitty’s face went from soft and sweet to steely and determined.

“Bits, what…”

“I’ll explain in a sec, sweetheart. Let’s go down.”

Bitty supposed it was better this was, because he didn’t think there was any way to accurately explain that he had Jack’s ex, the man responsible for all of this, stripped naked, gagged, and tied to a chair. He could easily explain why SMH was unconscious and locked behind bars, but that was a conversation for another time.

Jack turned to Bitty when he saw Parse, and his face was unreadable. “What’s going on?” he asked softly.

Bitty dragged his hand through his hair. “I wanted to test the theory that the wolf saliva works on other wolves, too.”

Jack frowned. “What do you mean?”

Bitty turned to glower at Parse. “He knew. He knew it worked. It’s not just humans who feel the pull to a dominant wolf. Your parents aren’t the only ones who have to worry every full moon.” He crossed his arms. “I borrowed Holster’s jeep the other day, drove up to Boston, cornered Parse. He was too easy, to be honest. Too willing to give in to a short make-out.”

“You and Parse,” Jack said, sounding sick.

“I had to,” Bitty said, his voice slightly pleading. “Jack, I need you to understand that I did this for you. He came here with my call in his system, came here because he couldn’t resist, and now he’s going to die.”

Jack took a few steps back, his hands going to his hair, pulling—tugging. “Bits.”

Bitty shook his head, taking a step toward Jack. “I’m sorry, sweetpea, but he hurt you. He did this to you, knowing what it would do, knowing how much you would suffer. That full moon after Epikegster was the worst you’ve ever had, because of him. Because he thought him kissin’ you would be enough to get you to break free, kill all of us, and send you straight to his arms. Instead, you turned me. He’s responsible for your pain, and for mine, and I can’t…” Bitty’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “I can’t let this go on. Who else is he going to do this to?”

Parse made a muffled shout against his gag, but both Jack and Bitty ignored him. Jack was staring, eyes wide and confused, hands shaking. “What are you saying?”

“I can’t live in chains, Jack,” Bitty whispered. “I would never force you. Not like he did. I would never take the choice from you. But I can’t live in chains. Our friends are safe,” he jutted his chin over at the cage where they slept—drugged, not to wake until morning. “I have a key to a safehouse—down the street, abandoned, set up with everything you need to keep yourself locked up for the moon if that’s what you want.” Bitty dug into his pocket and pulled out a folded bit of paper with an address and two keys taped to it. “But tonight, I’m going to shift, and I’m going to kill him. And after that, I’m going to spend my shifts outside.”

“You’ll kill people,” Jack said, his voice a ghost of itself. “You can’t prevent—”

“I know,” Bitty said, and let out a bitter laugh. “But I can’t…I can’t live like that. I can’t live locked up and pretending I’m something I’m not. I did that for too long already, Jack. I’m sorry. I can feel who I am—what I am—and I’m going to live it. I’d never ask you to, but…”

“Okay,” Jack said.

Bitty heard Parse’s gasp, heard his shout, his struggles, but he paid it no mind. Not when Jack was backing him up against the wall, and biting at his neck, and his lips, pushing his tongue into Bitty’s mouth.

“I was afraid before this, but I want to be with you. I’ve never felt…” Jack groaned, and nipped at Bitty’s neck again. “I want this.”

“There’s no going back after this. You understand that, right Jack? If we give into this, if we embrace what we are…”

Jack nodded, then glanced over at their friends. “We’ll have to leave. Go somewhere no one can find us.”

“I know, baby,” Bitty said. He didn’t feel as devastated as he should, and that in itself was maybe worse. “I can live with that better than I can live being locked up.”

Jack nodded, squared his shoulders, kissed Bitty hard and fast on the mouth, then turned to Parse. “You’ve had this coming a long time,” he said.

Parse’s eyes went wide, and behind Jack, Bitty started to smile.

***

Bitty knew it was the change in him that made the smell of blood and gore, which was splattered all over his hands, skin and muscle under his nails, feel comforting. Like the scent of a freshly cooked pot of his momma’s chili. The sun was cresting over the horizon, and Bitty’s body was aching, but in a pleasant way, like after a good work out or a long skate.

They’d been digging for a while, and his arms were tired, but every time he looked up at Jack—Jack whose eyes were wild and bright, his face splattered with the red remnants of what had been Kent Parson—he felt renewed.

They’d run. They’d killed Parse, ripped him to pieces, and then they’d run. By some miracle, they’d only come across two frat bros and the damage they’d done well, there would be no miraculous surviving that. The hole was big enough—deep enough—for three bodies, or what was left of them, to never be found.

Jack threw his shovel aside, and with a heavy plop, the bags of parts fell into the hole. He swiped his hand across his forehead and grinned at Bitty. “It’s over.”

Bitty laughed, stepping over a mound of dirt, curling his fingers into Jack’s bloody front, and kissed him. He tasted like blood, like a fresh kill, and it made him shiver all over. When he pulled back, he nuzzled their noses together, and breathed him in. “No, sweetpea. It’s not over. It’s only just beginning.”

**Author's Note:**

> DubCon bites- Kent uses his powers and tricks Jack into being bitten and turned into a werewolf. Bitty is bitten against his will after Jack has transformed, although this bite was not pre-planned.
> 
> Character Death- Kent is kidnapped by Bitty and is killed by Bitty and Jack off-screen.


End file.
